


Cara Mia

by love_in_mind_palace (mysleepyhead)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Costumes, First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween, I am all for Morticialock, M/M, Meet the Family, Sherlock looks fab in red lipstick I can vouch for that, also family is the real horror ok, and i wrote something with no smut wow, dressing up, halloween miracle, morticialock, silly stuff, this is set in s1, this is the weakest excuse of a fic i am sorry, where they were still idiots unsurprisingly, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysleepyhead/pseuds/love_in_mind_palace
Summary: It's a Halloween party. It's costume time.Yes costume.Hmm..What party again?





	Cara Mia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultingdads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingdads/gifts).



> Pardon me for the silliest fic I've ever written. Kate this was your prompt. I hope you like it. And you guys reading it. I hope you like too.

 

> **“Normal is an illusion. What is _normal_  for the spider is chaos for the fly.”**
> 
> **-Morticia Addams.**

 

 

“We are going to a Halloween party at Scotland Yard.” Sherlock announces.

 

It takes a tremendous amount of self control on John's part to not spit out his mouthful of rice. He swallows slowly and clears his throat. And when he becomes absolutely sure of the fact that no word from Sherlock can cause any food related accident, he asks calmly.

 

“A party?”

 

Sherlock nods with great enthusiasm (a rarity and often an indication of something behind what is presented).

 

“A halloween party? Since when are you interested in parties? And halloween parties to be exact?”

 

“A party which requires us to dress and act as someone we are not. A quite useful practice in our line of work. Highly benefactory and effective.” Sherlock raises his neck like a proud peacock while John takes a frustrated gulp. “Why is it a surprise that I am interested?”

 

“Okay then. How am I coming into all of this all? You can go alone.” John concentrates on his takeaway.

 

“You are in this investigative line of work, just like me. As I said, useful practice… Also we are inseparable, John. Where I go, you go and vice versa and everyone expects us together.”

 

_Together. Yes._

 

_Well together, not in the sense I want us to be but this has to work, doesn’t it?_

 

John bites his tongue.

 

“So?”

 

“So, what?”

 

“Are you going to give me the liberty to pick out the costumes?”

 

“Hell no!” John all but shouts and sits up straight. Military posture and captaincy coming into play. “That I am not going to do. You will end up giving me something embarrassing and the whole Yard will have the time of their life laughing at me and taking pictures.”

 

“I promise you that I will do no such thing.” The expression which manifests on Sherlock face can only be called a pout. Paired with those iridescent eyes which he has a weakness for, it doesn't help with John's internal struggle of not agreeing. It must be what Sherlock has in mind as well.

 

“I don’t believe you.” John chews on the last bite and flops back on his chair. Struggling to keep his gaze fixated on his food.

 

“I will clean the fridge.”

 

“Don't give me false hopes.”

 

“I will clean under the sink as well.”

 

“No. You won't.”

 

“I will buy groceries for two months!”

 

That makes John drop his chopsticks in the takeaway box and turn his face at Sherlock who actually looks like a eager little boy waiting for their Christmas present. Sherlock only looks this enthusiastic about murders.

 

“This actually makes it more suspicious, you know? You’re so eager to do chores you dread. You’re planning to buy me something really bad and embarrassing, aren’t you?” John scowls.

 

“I promise I will not buy anything that compromises your modesty or your respected image.”

 

John really wants to believe the concern in Sherlock's eyes is real and not an attempt to hide mischief.

  


He sighs in defeat. “Remind me again why I put up with you?”

 

“Because you like it.” The smirk is overconfident and earned. Yes, John does. As much as he wishes that he didn’t.

 

He doesn’t ask Sherlock what is in the bag when he comes back from the clinic just in time to see Sherlock walking towards his own room with a huge bag. Sherlock will not answer anyway. Holmes’ and their love of surprises.

 

And on the day of the party when John comes back in the drawing room and checks himself in the mirror for the thirteenth time, he still cannot fathom what the fuss is all about.

 

It’s just a suit. A simple and well tailored suit with black and grey stripes. He runs a hand over the lapel again. It’s soft. And the tie and pocket square with tiny skulls printed on it is the only apparently halloween looking thing in the whole attire.The mustache feels a tiny bit uncomfortable because he is not used to having one but the black wig is not that bad.

 

Sherlock’s room still has it’s door shut. He takes a look at the door and then concentrates on his image in the mirror again.

 

This reminds him of something. The whole image of himself. Someone he saw or knew. Nothing in the costume bag gave any idea to what he was supposed to be. It’s just a man’s dress suit with a black, slicked back wig and a mustache. What is even special about it?

 

His ears picks up at the sound of a door opening. The door of Sherlock’s bedroom. Thank god, at last he is done with his clothing. So he turns to his left to face Sherlock.

 

“Sherlock, you got me a suit. Just a suit. What was all that fuss… guuuhhh.”

 

John’s words die in his throat. Dies is a very weak word. The words transfer to a different realm and John for a moment cannot fully understand if he is awake or dreaming. Because the person who emerged from Sherlock’s bedroom cannot be Sherlock.

 

The person (creature? John realizes he is forgetting his vocabulary quite fast) is clad in a skin hugging (hugging is the right word because the dress is hugging him like a lover… what?), black dress falling on the floor like water cascading from a waterfall; natural, nonstop. It’s like the dress has it’s own life. Never stopping. Uncontrollable.

 

And the human in it.

 

Looks like they have come out of a fucking gothic fairytale. Ghostly white skin. Black, wavy hair like the darkness. There is no apparent outline between the hair and the dress. It looks like just one entity. Eyes looking almost colourless, surrounded by black eyeshadow and lips like dried blood. The cheekbones so prominent that it’s blinding. John feels an urge to check his own pulse. There is a chance he might be dreaming. Or hallucinating.

 

“I am hating this lipstick. It’s sticky and annoying but it was the best possible shade.” The creature talks and makes an irritated face.

 

And yes, it is of course Sherlock. Who else can it be? Who else?

 

“Sherlock?” John observes with happiness that his voice is left somewhere within him. Not sure how long the voice will be with him though. It’s a miracle he is still standing. He thought the bones in his legs left him as soon as Sherlock had appeared out of his room.

 

“Yes, John?”

 

Sherlock turns around from very concentratedly observing his lips making a pout at the mirror. And then makes a smacking noise and asks again. “Yes?”

 

“What? Sorry. Who are you supposed to be?”

Sherlock’s eyes go wide as if in disbelief. As if John had just asked him why grass is green.

 

“Really? You don't know? And my research showed this to be a quite popular Halloween costume choice for couples.”

 

“Couples,” John mouths. Although his intention is to talk but the upward strokes of Sherlock's eyeliner isn't helping. It's making his eyes paler, more bright, more otherworldly. It's a pool of mystic liquids John wants to die into.

 

“Gomez Addams, John. You are supposed to be him.”

 

John stays silent.

 

“That makes me Morticia Addams. His wife.” Sherlock’s gleeful smile is not helping. John silently decides that it should be illegal for a man to look that pretty in a dress. It’s frustrating when the flatmate you are in secretly love with is looking like a goddess and is making you want to do unexplainable things to him.

 

“Why them?” He decides to ask weakly. Because it’s better when they are having a conversation. Because it’s getting impossible to distract his eyes away from the never ending column of neck Sherlock has.

 

“Because there were three features of interest.” Sherlock’s eyes shine bright as if at last he found something to really talk about. “First of all,” A thin finger with red polish rises in the air and for a tiny moment John fantasizes how would it feel to have that finger in his mouth and to suck around it. And then with a horror realizes how dirty that thought is.

Quick remedy. Think about unsexy things. Platonic friendship. Flatmate. Dead bodies in the morgue with one eye plucked out. Sherlock bent over the corpse to examine it displaying that neck and making John's mouth water.

 

Nothing helps at all.

 

“We quite match the physique they have.” Sherlock is still talking and surprisingly John has minimum brain activity left to process the words coming from the lips that's making John forget any lip he ever saw.

“So this,”  A delicate hand flourish in the air. “I decided is the perfect choice. Secondly, we are inseparable and devoted to each other just as these two. And this woman thinks exactly like I do. So again a perfect choice.”

 

John just decides to close his eyes. Sherlock continues talking. “And third is the severed hand which tested negative for the toxin.”

 

“Severed hand?” It takes John's sane half of mind which is currently busy taming the insane half some time to arrange the sentence in his mind and a sudden suspicion rises in his chest. An image of a severed hand walking around a house.

 

“Yes, this!” Sherlock carefully puts on his gloves and opens the suspicious looking icebox on the kitchen table which is just one step away from being declared a biohazard and lifts out a severed hand frozen in ice.

 

“This sits on my shoulder.” He proudly announces.

Most people look that gleeful about candies. Or normal humanly stuffs. The one John cares about looks like that when it’s about severed body parts. John doesn’t really blame himself. He wouldn’t take it in any other way.

 

“No.” He says looking directly at Sherlock’s face.

 

“Why?” Sherlock sounds and looks perfectly like a petulant child being denied candy for halloween.

 

  
“Toxin or not, that’s a severed human hand, Sherlock. A rotting one at that. I give you enough liberty for things but you have to listen to me on this one. Leave. That. Alone.” He says sternly.

 

“But it’s part of the attire! I watched the movie. This hand _has_ to be on my shoulder.” Sherlock extends his hand holding the body part as if taking a closer look at it will make John change his mind.

 

“Well, then you go with the hand. I am staying at home.” John goes for the ultimate threat. No way Sherlock is sacrificing the perfection of the couple costume for the sake of a prop.

 

And it works.

 

A red pout makes its appearance again making John’s heart skip a few beats. Then the hand is being thrown back into the box and Sherlock is sulking in his chair.

 

“Don’t be like that.” John stand in front of the chair. Trying to decide if patting Sherlock’s head will be a good idea. God knows how much that wig costs.

 

“Do you know how much of a struggle it was to get that hand?”

 

“Yeah I know. You just flashed your teeth at Molly and she gave you the hand. Such hard work.”

 

At that Sherlock looks up and glares. While John struggles to maintain a straight face.

 

After a moment, Sherlock's attention fixes on the collar of John's suit. And before John understands what's happening, Sherlock is standing and is very close.

 

Way closer than where John does/does not want him. It’s difficult to control himself in such close proximity.

 

“What, what... what are you...” his voice is way higher in octaves than usual and he simply does not care.

Sherlock gives him a disdainful look and then his fingers fix around John's tie, straightening it in its place.  And then he is looking at John very intensely.

 

And John is again not caring about anything because it's a heady mix of aroma in his nose. Sherlock must have put something new on than his usual aftershave.

 

And good God that close. John is almost sure that if he tried hard enough, he can count Sherlock's eyelashes. Is he getting closer?

 

“That's midnight poison.” The voice over him, talks slowly. Eyes still pinning him where he is.

 

“Huh?” John squeaks. And blushes when he realizes what his voice is doing. He’s acting like a prepubescent boy on his first date. But Sherlock is nonchalant. Eyes just roaming over John's face and form.

 

“The perfume you are trying to smell. Your nostrils are all flared up.”

 

Palms sweating, heart racing, John realizes Sherlock is closer than he was, if that was possible. But still their bodies are not touching. There is still a thread of air hanging between their costumes.

 

“How do I look, John?” The painted eyebrows wiggle slightly. And that mouth..Oh that mouth.

 

He is doing it purposefully. He has done everything purposefully. John is not dumb.

 

“You look b-bb-beautiful.” The words are breath and a struggle and they do not come out the way John wants them to. But they do the job. Because Sherlock's eyes shine. And his tongue mimics what John's tongue involuntarily does whenever Sherlock is around. Which means most of the time. John is sure Sherlock can see his ears going red and hear his heartbeat which resembles a train more than a normal heartbeat now.

 

“And I think you look dashing, John.” Sherlock's voice is way lower than it usually is. A sultry mix of molten chocolate and the mystic night.

 

“I… thank… mmph.”

 

John does not get to complete his words because, well a lanky detective is trapping him against the wall with his hands cupping his face and a knee between his legs while being inches higher than him and by all means that should not work because it's defying the law of physics. But it does.

 

And yes, how unreal that might sound or feel it does not matter, the fact is that Sherlock is kissing him.

 

John has no idea why Sherlock was so worried about the lipstick. Because what lipstick. What texture. The lips wearing them is the only concern right now and they feel way better than John ever imagined looking at them. And the tongue, currently a bit awkwardly trying to taste the inside of his mouth is John's favorite muscle right now. And John has nothing better to do than accompany it. It's good. It's warm. It's the perfect temperature in their mouths. Absolute perfection.

 

Maybe Sherlock doesn't need to breathe. But John does. So he retracts.

 

“Why did you stop?” Sherlock answers, struggling for air. Brow upward in confusion.

 

“For that. Air. Breathe.” John takes an open mouthed breath. “Look how you are gasping too.”

 

“Oh. I thought you did not like my kissing technique. Or kissing me.” The creases between arrows go away. For someone as bright, Sherlock can be mind utterly stupid sometimes.

 

John looks up and smiles wide at the doe eyed man whose lipstick is now a tiny bit ruined. It’s enough for Sherlock standard. The man whose shirts do not dare to form creases. Will Sherlock faint if John informs him that they have a party to go? But from the turn of events. Does Sherlock care?

 

"I think it goes without saying that I do like kissing you. You can be so thick sometimes Sherlock."

Sherlock's lips quirk up in a satisfied smile at that.

 

“Is there a party, really?” John rubs the bony back. Caressing.

 

“Yes.” Sherlock is suddenly twitchy in his place. Pursing his lip as if he got caught red handed.

 

“But the thing is I don't want to go anymore. Do you? I am pretty sure my makeup for the costume is ruined.”

John is not fooled by the innocent eyes before him.

 

“You can still fix that mouth.”  John conceals a smile. “I have seen my ex girlfriends fixing up their face from worse than that. One could say you never intended to go in the party.”

 

“Shut up, John.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I can hear the questions in your head. Please talk out loud, John.”

 

“Why the costumes?”

 

The eyes glare at him for some more moments and then Sherlock talks.

 

“I thought maybe doing things that are meant to be for couples would make you consider that we as a couple could work.”

 

“People ask other people out on dates for that Sherlock. Or approach in a more clear way. They don't play dress up. You wasted two hours behind all this. And money.” John looks at the man in front of him with utter bewilderment.

“Whatever.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “ Like being clear works with you. My brain wasn’t working. It was extremely frustrating. The way you were not doing anything. Just being an idiot. The way I am scared to do anything more because I don’t want to ruin this and please don't mind John, although I have been madly in love with you from nine months, you are just dumb.”

 

John pauses for a moment, soaking in each detail committing it to his mind. Did Sherlock really say he was in love with him? Has he passed out and gone to heaven? He’s still trying to comprehend it all when he looks up and Sherlock’s mask slips for a moment and John can see how vulnerable they both are in this moment. He quirks his lips and leans forward to kiss the tip of Sherlock’s nose and tries to convey all his emotions. If he can. If Sherlock gets it.

 

“And you, Sherlock Holmes, are perfect in every way?” John raises his eyebrows.

 

“Almost.”

 

“Huh.” John snorts and presses closer to Sherlock. Holding him tighter. Feeling Sherlock's chest heaving. The pretty neckline of the neckline is too tempting.

 

“Really John? Who took his girlfriend to a restaurant and ditched her to come join me on a case?” Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “Were you even trying?”

 

“I am an idiot just as you said. But tell me. Who flirted with the sergeant to make me jealous?”

 

“Oh John shut up, it was for a case. And yes I was trying to make you jealous. That worked all right. Now do you want to bicker or kiss me? The two options have a very different outcome and I am sure neither of us will like the outcome the former one gives.” Sherlock stops for a breath.

 

John sighs in defeat and drags Sherlock down by the dark, raven black wig, murmuring “Git.” under his breath.

 

“Likewise.” is the last thing he hears before Sherlock closes his lips over his.

 

There is a sound of a door opening somewhere. But being too busy sucking your flatmates neck, intending to make a pretty bruise makes your brain function slower. And the moans your flatmate makes does not help with his hearing power at all. It doesn't help with anything when a hand is blindly trying to unbutton your shirt and putting a hand inside the open zip of the trousers. It's heavenly. And it slows down other brain functions.

 

“Oh John.” Sherlock moans and John puts pressure on the skin under his lips hoping for another moan.

 

But instead of a moan, very inconveniently the door to the flat swings open.

 

And a loud gasp freezes John in place. Which is Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock's hands which just a moment ago were frantic and all over John just stop dead in their tracks.

 

Perfect moment the clients chose indeed.

 

Some moments of agonizing silence pass. And John does not dare to open his eyes and silently prays to God to make him invisible. The only thing that happens is he feels the glue of his fake mustache finally give up and silently falls from his skin and lands awkwardly on the floor.

 

Maybe that's what breaks the silence.

 

“Err. Sherlock.” An unfamiliar and rich female voice speaks.

 

“Yes, Mummy?” John feels the rumble of the voice against his lips, which is still attached to Sherlock’s throat.

 

Mummy. _Mummy?_ Sherlock's mother?

 

“We um. We are going to wait in… um.”

 

“My kitchen.” That's Mrs. Hudson. “Yes, if you three please follow me while these two sort themselves out.”

 

When the footsteps fade downstairs John decides it's time to talk.

 

“That was?”

 

“My mother. Of course.”

 

“Ah yes, of course.” John feels a sob rising in his chest.

 

“And my father.” Sherlock adds.

 

“Oh yes, of course your father too.”

 

“And Mycroft may have been behind them.”

 

“Just perfect.” John all but cries and buries his face into Sherlock's shoulder blade.

 

“Do you have sedatives, Sherlock? Please put me to sleep.”

 

“Don't overreact, John we were just kissing.” Sherlock snorts and John feels a hand patting his back softly.

 

“We were groping like teenagers! My wig is off my head. My fake mustache is on the floor. Your dress might have teared at the shoulder. And that's how I, your supposedly ‘just friends’ flatmate meets your family for the first time? With his tongue three feet down their son's throat. Did it have to happen today? Mycroft is gonna assassinate me right? Would it help if tell him that this is the first time and I won't kiss you again? I won’t even touch you? I will find someplace else to live?”

 

“It could be worse, John. It could be your cock in me instead of your tongue when they walked in. Although we can arrange that later.” Sherlock sounds thoughtful.

 

“You are not helping...” John groans into the sweet smelling shoulder blade

 

“Did I say I was helping?” Sherlock sounds very pleased.

 

The shiny stuff that transferred from Sherlock's skin to John's face decide that they are not ready to leave just yet. So after ten minutes, John is sitting in his chair with his nose shining and being a perfect match to Sherlock's cheekbones. His wig somewhere in the room. And his rumpled shirt tucked back inside his trousers. While everyone congregates in the living room.

 

“What are you exactly doing here on Halloween? You never visit me on Halloween.” Sherlock sounds like a petulant child although looking like a sex god, tapping his feet very angrily.

 

“We were here for your Aunt Laura's party. Didn't Myc tell you?” Sherlock's mother turns to her elder child who is currently shifting his gaze from John to Sherlock. Every time his gaze came back to John, John prayed to his ancestors to make him Invisible.

 

“I sent him a text.” Mycroft replies slowly. “As he refuses to pick up the phone like a stubborn child since I denied him access to a case file a month ago.”

 

“Denied is a soft word. And the text. I deleted it, of course.” Sherlock snorts.

 

“We are staying at Laura's house ‘till the weekend if you are willing to visit Sherlock. You can take Dr Watson with you. Nice to meet you, Dr Watson. My husband is a fan of your blog.” She briefly turns towards John with a kind smile.

 

“Oh really?” John sits up straight and then immediately remembers the way the Holmes’ family first saw him. Well good first impression there. He slouches into the couch muttering a thank you and wishing for power of camouflage with the chair.

 

“Are we done with talking here? John and I have a party to attend.” Sherlock says sternly.

 

“A party?” Mycroft's eyebrows almost touch his receding hairline. “Yes of course, do you want me to drop you two off?” He smiles a too nice smile. Not genuine at all. And glances at John scrupulously.

 

“No need Mycroft. Mummy, Daddy are you done here? Please talk with me later.” Sherlock stands up with all the world's annoyance over his face.

 

“It was good to see you again, Sherlock.” Sherlock's mother hugs him and slowly removes herself from the room. Giving a fond smile towards John. Mycroft is the last one to walk out and just before Sherlock closes the door over his face, John hears something which is directed at him.

 

“Nice turn of events there, Dr Watson.”

 

Sherlock stands with his back against the door.

 

“That was not how I expected to meet your parents for the first time.” John finally talks and realizes he needs water. “They are very nice people by the way.”

 

“Me neither. I wanted it to be more scandalous.”

 

“Sherlock!”

 

Sherlock smiles in answer. A devious grin.

 

“Mycroft.” John sucks a breath.

 

“What about him?” Sherlock’s eyebrows furrow.

 

“He is going to kill me.”

 

“Absolutely not. He will send a car for you this week while you are coming back from your Friday shift at the clinic.and lecture you about how things will go bad if you break my heart. Then he will try to bug the flat more than it already is and see how you behave with me. Of course I will disable them all.” Then Sherlock starts walking with a fluid like motion and a smile on his face, making John forget how to breathe.

 

Two bony hands encircle his wrist. And Sherlock's lips stop beside John's ear making John suck in a desperate breath.

 

“But what he will not be able to tell you that I tend to be very possessive of things I like. Or that I am hard as a the fire poker since I saw you in that suit.”

 

“The party is cancelled for us then I guess” John makes no effort to hide the tremble in his voice.

 

“For this year, no Halloween party outside this flat.” John realizes he is being walked backwards in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom.

 

“Good idea. What's the event list for it?” John blindly searches for the zip of the dress.

 

“We are done with the surprise and horror elements already. My family surprised us enough and you looked really spooked.” Sherlock shakes his head, hands tearing off John’s suit jacket with surprising speed and grace.

 

“True.” John nods in agreement. “So what’s left on the list?”

 

“It’s just a candy hunt that’s left.” Sherlock lick a stripe from John’s jaw to his eyes.

 

“Delicious. Happy Halloween Mon Cher.” The deep baritone growls in John's ear.

 

John finally finds the zip and the sound of it gets drowned in Sherlock's giggling.

 

“Happy halloween indeed, Cara Mia.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lou for the flawless editing. Thanks to everyone who made it this far and did not hate me.  
> If you wanna talk about these idiots come scream with me in [tumblr](http://love-in-mind-palace.tumblr.com)  
> Comments, kudos,candies..Anything is appreciated.  
> Lots of love. Happy Halloween. Stay spooked.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] of Cara Mia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807804) by [IamJohnLocked4avclub (IamJohnLocked4life)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IamJohnLocked4avclub)




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